


under covers of baby blue

by orphan_account



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Inspired by Dreams, M/M, Roommates, just Hyuck being Hyuck, oh my god they were roommates, poor bby renjun just needs sleep, subtle hints of Nahyuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 10:18:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20974274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: He sees Jaemin, blinding and bright.He certainly stands out in the crowd, pink hair distinct in a palette of black and brown.They meet eyes, and Jaemin draws near, near, near. He eyes Renjun, gaze uncanny, and his hands slide down his arm, tracing a gentle line before calloused fingers find their way into soft ones, intertwining.Jaemin’s hands are cold.(Renjun wakes up with goosebumps.)





	under covers of baby blue

**Author's Note:**

> i got a nightmare and kept seeing floating heads after i woke up and instead of calming myself down i decided to write about it instead wow pls enjoy

Another night of rest brings him another morning of trying to balance himself between a stool and the bathroom counter; meticulous fingers gently dabbing on the delicate skin underneath his eyes, dark circles insistent through the near-empty concealer.

Another dream.

He's tired, _terrified_.

The number of nights he’s been having them lies insignificant.

Every night it happens always leaves him a little shaken; uneven breaths and trembling fingers clutching covers of baby blue that once was tied to a time of comfort.

A silent wish for it to all stop resides at the back of his mind, wrapped around his head in a throbbing ache, unwilling to leave.

Every night, it's different. It scares him all the same.

_It_ being a multitude of things, of dreams– _nightmares._

There have been deaths on multiple occasions. The hair on his arms can't help but stick up in alarm at the every time real life seems to mirror them.

_It_ is how his knees wobble whenever he's at a significant amount of height above the ground, the vague and familiar feeling of jumping, phantom around his legs. _It_ is his mom watering the plants, a knife to her back from a masked figure that flashes right before his eyes and disappears.

_It_ being– it _being_.

_It_ is the insistent nagging that crawls behind his back, whispers in tone sweet; malice intent.

(He shivers.)

⸙

On the second week of college, he meets a boy– blinding and bright.

He comes in the form of a roommate, accompanied by an air of mystery.

“Na Jaemin, nice to meet you.” The boy– _Na Jaemin_ smiles, hand stretched out in greeting.

“Huang Renjun.” Comes his response, hesitantly reaching out to return the handshake.

(The contact brings chills down his spine, making the hair on his nape stand up.)

Renjun’s eyes shoot up to meet _Na Jaemin’s_; the boy’s teeth pristine and white, smiling.

“Nice to meet you too.”

Na Jaemin is quiet– _reserved_, Renjun decides. _For now._

The first few nights with Jaemin aren’t any different from all the other nights he’s spent alone. He still gets them–– the _dreams_.

(_On the first night, pools of crimson drips from his fingers, down to his bare knees that lay against the coarse surface of the ground. He feels it run rivulets down his face, warm and thick. Then he realizes it; he’s crying. Red– Crimson, all in between._)

He wakes up with a scream, muffled by an immediate hand.

It’s his own.

A wave of relief washes over him.

⸙

He does his daily morning routine; a pinky to the delicate patch of skin underneath his eyes while the remaining bundle of concealer hides in the bathroom cabinet.

For a moment, he wonders how Jaemin would react. If he’d lend his ears, listening to nights of hysteria, turn away and deem him deranged.

He’s afraid he’d abhor him, eye him with disgust.

Renjun decides he shouldn’t be expecting, not yet at least, from anyone like _Na Jaemin_, he looks like he’d lack the bite. _Gentle_, that’s what he looks like.

He sees Jaemin, blinding and bright.

He certainly stands out in the crowd, pink hair distinct in a palette of black and brown.

They meet eyes, and Jaemin draws near, near, _near_. He eyes Renjun, gaze uncanny, and his hands slide down his arm, tracing a gentle line before calloused fingers find their way into soft ones, intertwining.

Jaemin’s hands are cold.

(Renjun wakes up with goosebumps.)

⸙

They don’t really talk often.

A silent agreement hangs in the air, one where they mutually agree to only talk to eachother when necessary.

On the days he sleeps in, body and brain tired from unending dreams, Jaemin never fails to cook him breakfast– a small gesture of acknowledgement, and Renjun never fails to consume the meal– still warm and steaming.

Unknowingly, it starts to redefine his means of home.

⸙

He wakes up in cold sweat one night, gasping.

There’s a warm hand on his arm; brown eyes glinting with concern finding his, wide in alarm.

Renjun wraps shaking fingers from trembling hands around a wrist, voice quivering. “J-Jaemin?”

_Jaemin. _

Realization’s process a moment too long, too late. Panic seeps through his veins, his grip on Jaemin’s wrist unknowingly tightens.

“Hey–!” Jaemin startles, hints of panic tainting his tone. Still, comfort remains insistent. “Hey– hey now, sorry I woke you.”

His gaze is unwavering, examining him closely. With intent, and he feels it. Renjun feels it. Picking him apart, tearing him open. They read through his thoughts like an open book. He tries not to squirm.

So he continues, staring back, eyes shaking. Exposed. _Exposed_. As if Jaemin could reach into his thoughts and recite them, voicing nightmare-like poetry dripping like honey from his lips, a wave of cold up his back.

Jaemin _doesn’t. _

Instead, he says, “I was going to tell you I’m going out to buy new covers but you weren’t reading any of my messages so I went to check on you.” and he takes a deep breath, “That’s when I uh…” trailing off, he nods his head in place of gesturing towards the grip, tight on his wrists. “You know… Caught you.”

Plain and simple. An exhale of relief.

(Not at all like the ghosts of slender fingers wrapped around his neck as he slowly descends into trepidation, madness– an unending pitch black laced with numb.)

If there’s a question lingering at the back of Jaemin’s mind, Renjun is grateful he doesn’t ask.

He does, however, ask if Renjun would also like to buy new covers.

Renjun hums in question, brows furrowing.

“Your covers looked pretty old, and these are on sale right now.” Jaemin says, tone light. Weirdly enough, his eyes scream _nervous_, –like the events of earlier in the dark of Renjun’s room still haunts him, fresh in his mind– hands fiddling with the hems of the set.

“Oh.”

A moment passes in silence, and Jaemin worries he’s asked something wrong, that maybe bringing Renjun was a bad idea, that maybe he was never supposed to witness what he did– before Renjun halts his thoughts to a stop and turns to grin at him softly.

“Sure, why not?”

Renjun doesn’t think he’s ever noticed how tense Jaemin has been until he’s seen him this bright.

(Maybe– _Maybe_ it’s because this might be the first time he’s properly looked– interacted, _talked_ to Jaemin, outside of mumbled ‘_good morning_’s and tight-lipped smiles. Maybe Jaemin is sentimental like that.)

The hour they get home, Renjun changes the covers, dozing off for the night.

That morning, he wakes up in warmth, under cotton white comfort.

He sees flashes of Jaemin’s blinding smile when he hands him the duvet set as soon as he gains consciousness and he wakes up,_ feeling_, for once; hands steady, breathing even.

The concealer hidden in the bathroom cabinet stays, remains– _untouched_, that day.

⸙

Jaemin talks to him outside apartment walls more often, smiles in lieu of a greeting at rushed free periods in the halls. He waves to him from afar, when does as much as meet his eyes.

It’s a delicate bud of friendship between two who lie acquainted under a roof, and it begins _being_.

“Where are you going?” Renjun asks, one day. He’s stopped having the nightmares– _dreams_. He’s yet to know why.

Jaemin looks up from where he was fixing his belt and Renjun is looking at him, eyes shining with intent. It’s cute– _almost_, book lying open on his lap.

(_Lights shining in his eyes have replaced dark circles and Jaemin finds that they twinkle, passion glinting like little constellations in the sky that he so loved to talk about while they’re under grey wool blankets on the couch when it’s a little stormy and their only source of light is from a single candle, ablaze._)

“I’m heading to the arcade with some friends. Wanna come with?” Comes the reply, eyebrow arching in question.

“No it’s fine, I don’t mean to intrude–”

“No, no–” Jaemin stops his sentence with a wave of his hand. “Actually, they’ve been begging me to ask you to come with.”

Renjun freezes, warmth spreading through his cheeks. Jaemin stands, laughs a little– A little sheepish.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. We won’t mind.” He continues, softly, but Renjun’s already had a decision made.

“No, no.” He closes his book, hopping off the couch. “I’m in. Let’s go.”

This time it’s Jaemin who freezes, voice in tone disbelief. “Really?”

Renjun grins.

“Sure, why not?”

The smile he gets in return remains the same, always as bright and blinding as the first.

“Hi! You must be the infamous Nana roommate!” The voice that greets him is loud and enthusiastic.

Another voice greets, calm and soft-spoken. “We’ve heard a lot about you.”

A warm red creeps up on Renjun’s neck, making its way across his cheeks in a prominent blush. He turns to look at Jaemin, who’s usually confident demeanor hides behind something akin to avoiding his gaze, ears tinting with a similar shade of red.

Renjun goes back to facing his friends, taps a finger to his chin in fake wonder with brows furrowed and bottom lip slightly jutting out. “Infamous?”

This piques Jaemin’s interest, glancing at him. Renjun is a little teasing.

“Heard a lot about… _Me_?” He gasps, hand then flying to cover his mouth, eyeing Jaemin in a silent challenge.

“All good things, I hope?” He finishes, mock innocence adorning his features. He catches Jaemin’s gaze and gives him a wink.

One of Jaemin’s friends chuckle, eyes turning into crescents while the other hits Jaemin repeatedly on the arm with a boisterous cackle, breathlessly commenting a ‘_you’re really gonna stand there and let him do you like that_,’ and Jaemin tries not to show a pained grimace, petulantly pouting at Renjun. “All the breakfasts I’ve cooked for you...”

That prompts said friend –the one repeatedly hitting his arm– to laugh even more, clutching his stomach. Renjun giggles.

Unconsciously, Jaemin smiles at the sight.

“I love him already, Jaemin.” Loud Friend says, wiping a fake tear. The other just continues to smile at his antics.

“Enough of that,” Jaemin waves his hand, then gestures towards his two friends. “These are Donghyuck and Jeno.”

He vaguely remembers them mentioned occasionally in the late night talks, warm wool blankets, starry-eyed Jaemin, fond rambles of complaints spilling out of his pretty mouth, lips– dry.

(He vaguely dreams about the feel of them, –rough and chapped– against his.)

"Ah... So these are Hyuck and Jeno.” Renjun nods in recognition, giving both of them small waves.

“He talks about us?” One of them– Donghyuck, says, eyes lighting up. He pounces on Jaemin with a fake cry. “Nana I’m so honored!”

“Yeah…” Jaemin coughs, “He listens to a lot of my complaints…” laughing awkwardly, he takes a hold of Donghyuck’s wrist.

“Oh shut up, I know you’re in love with me.” Donghyuck says, with another fake tear.

If Renjun feels something at the pit of his stomach, he disregards it.

Instead he tilts his head to the side, looking towards Jaemin. “Nana?”

Boy in question’s head snaps up at the nickname, humming in response with a face that screams clueless.

Renjun giggles at the reaction. (He’s been giggling a lot these days.)

“No, no. I meant your nickname, why _Nana_?”

Jaemin ‘_ah_’s in realization, nodding his head. “Something Hyuck’s made of my last name after I forgot to reply to him.”

“Oh.” Renjun says, nibbling on his bottom lip, and turns back to look at the two– Jeno and Donghyuck, who were running to the Dance Dance Revolution machine. They’re voicing something along the lines of a challenge– a competition.

It takes a lot for Jaemin not to stare at his lips– soft, small, _pretty_; but he doesn’t bother stopping himself from letting his gaze wander, eyes beholding the entire sight of Renjun. (He notices how much taller he is; secretly marvelling at the difference.)

Donghyuck groans in annoyance after having Jeno beat him multiple times, crossing his arms and pouting. Jeno still has that smile on his face, patting Donghyuck on the back, who’s already busy preparing for another round.

Renjun laughs at the exchange, eyes twinkling in mirth and Jaemin doesn’t think he’s ever seen the smaller this bright.

“Jaemin? Where are we going?” Renjun asks when Jaemin takes a hold of his wrist, leading him away while his friends were still very much engrossed in their ‘_friendly_’ competition.

A tuft of white catches his eye, just as Jaemin stops in front of a machine and releases his hold on his wrist.

“You like Moomin, right?” He says, gaze locked on the machine as he steps forward to put his head against the glass, examining each and every one of the stuffed Moomins. He doesn’t notice the blush on Renjun’s cheeks, reflecting against the glass.

Renjun fiddles with the tail of the toy, handling it delicately in his hands.

Jaemin was nothing but determined, sweat beading down his forehead as his eyes never once having left the sight of the stuffed toys, experienced fingers grasping at the controls.

He feels warmth spreading across his cheeks for the nth time that day, heart racing when he recalls how relieved Jaemin looked when he finally succeeded, handing him the Moomin.

Nobody’s ever tried so hard a fashion, for _him_ like that.

Suddenly it’s too warm.

“From Jaemin?” A voice startles him, appearing from behind.

Jeno stands, small smile on his face. The one that doesn’t have his eyes crinkled into crescents.

“Yeah…” He breathes out after moments of recovering, eyes shifting back to the stuffed toy, poking its cheek.

“May I?” Jeno asks, hand reaching out. Renjun hands him the toy.

Jeno examines the toy with a thoughtful look, giving it back to Renjun. “How many tries did it take him?”

Renjun pauses, rewinding back to when Jaemin took at least twenty minutes hunched over the claw machine. “At least… more than ten?”

“Of course he would.” Jeno says, looking over to the scene in front of him. Renjun catches the action from the corner of his eye, gaze falling to that direction.

He sees them.

Donghyuck is grinning, sunny and _bright_; hands wrapped around Jaemin’s waist, while Jaemin wears a similar expression, smile equally as bright.

He doesn’t know if it’s them combined or if Jaemin really just shines brightest with Donghyuck, but somehow Renjun’s world turns dark, feeling settling at the bottom of his stomach.

Donghyuck smacks a kiss on Jaemin’s cheek, and the giggle that escapes from Jaemin’s lips is a sound that keeps ringing in his ears, even long after they’ve left the arcade.

⸙

The walk home with Jaemin is a quiet one.

It feels all too familiar, like they’re back on square one.

The silent agreement makes itself known, falling into the breadth of their proximity. Their distance– so near yet worlds apart.

Their hands occasionaly graze each other, clumsy ‘_sorry_’s off into the air in hushed whispers.

Renjun doesn’t feel like talking; inhibitions once free from his hold, now make their way back into the confines of his mind, making itself welcome. Jaemin walks, pace steady. He’s clueless, eyebrows furrowed in worry, but he doesn’t pry.

(Renjun dreams of a black– almost force-like entity. _It_ starts from the tips of his fingers, into his veins and makes its way into his heart._ It_ takes his heart in its grip, squeezing and suffocating him into numbness.

The smile he sees muffled beyond the darkness is not a bright one. Unnerving, _unfamiliar_.)

He wakes up, gasping– _shaking. _

Trembling hands clutch at covers of cotton white, the stare of the Moomin plush that sits at the edge of his bed is aimed right at his soul.

He gets up to turn the plush around, then goes back under his cotton white duvet, falling back into slumber.

(He greets the concealer hidden in the bathroom cabinet that day. He reckons he’s going to greet them more than he’s going to meet Jaemin’s eyes throughout the following weeks.)

⸙

It’s warm. Too warm.

But it also feels different– a different warm, a haze of illusion.

It lies on Renjun’s skin, borderline boiling. He feels the heat emanating from the tips of his fingers, lying flat on his palms.

Fluorescent lights sprawl across the plane of his face; reds, pinks, purples, blues. Bodies pressed against each other under circumstance. He’s suffocating.

Sweat is dripping down his face, glistening on the underside of his eyes, in place of a threat.

(Dark circles remain insistent.)

It doesn’t matter; nobody knows him in this place, he thinks as the sound of EDM paints his head in an ache; beating a loud pound in his ears.

All of a sudden, there’s a flash– a fleeting moment of déjà vu.

He sees a familiar image of hands on his waist, eyes of a predator.

There was an attempt, to bring himself back to his senses, rubbing his face with his sleeves. He finds splotches of skin-tone against the clean white, clicking his tongue.

Then, careless hands hold a vice-like grip on his waist, making him freeze still.

They turn instistent, _persisting,_ roughly dragging him across the crowd. He can’t see anything with the neon lights, it only does as much as give him a headache.

He stumbles, still, through the crowd, even with hands on his waist. It hurts to breathe.

Then, hands tug at his wrist. It’s a different warm, comforting, _familiar_. He feels the grip on his waist being pulled away roughly, gentle hands taking its place. It guides him out of the crowd, and the only thing he registers before falling into pitch black is a warm ‘_come on, let’s get you home._’

The thing with his dreams– _nightmares_, is that there are seldom times, seldom things that manage to set them apart from Renjun’s reality.

Dreaming usually deprives rationality and logic, situating in oblivion as you wander aimlessly in a surreal, fabricated world, but it somehow takes Renjun every last ounce of his consciousness to distinguish from it, from the reality.

Often times, he finds himself watching. Observing. _Wondering_.

Everything that builds up into climax in his dreams happen in real life, a ghost of what happens next burns beneath his eyelids.

Na Jaemin, bright and blinding, had been first to break the cycle; grounding him. He pulls him back into reality, like he did at the party.

Predatory eyes that preyed on him, to the rash hands that would have– _that should have_ led him to the secluded corners of the unfamiliar house, instead replaced by fingers that hold delicately, gently. Warmth bursting all over.

_ It_ drags him back to reality, into arms of comfort, a whisper of ‘_you’re okay. You’re okay. You’re safe now_,’ repeatedly, over and over again, like a mantra.

⸙

Renjun wakes up under covers of _baby blue_.

There’s an initial panic ready to run through his system, but there’s also a careful hand carding fingers through his hair and he’s put briefly in a hybrid moment of confusion and calm.

It all seems so familiar.

“You’re awake?” A voice interrupts his thoughts.

Renjun peeks from underneath the covers, squinting at the light that spills from the blinds with his eyes that subsist unadjusted.

“Is this real..?” Voice gravelly, he manages to ask.

Jaemin finally enters his perspective, pink-turned-caramel locks still tousled from sleep, and the question must have caught him off-guard; a strangled noise in place of laughter, brows furrowed in confusion.

Renjun belatedly realizes that this is the first time he’s properly looked at Jaemin in a while. The realization makes him tremble.

“Y-You’re real…”

His hands scramble to clutch at the fabric of Jaemin’s pyjama shirt, startling the boy. Jaemin’s hand gravitate towards Renjun’s wrist, a concerned look on his face. “Yeah, I’m pretty real… –Renjun?”

Renjun’s burying his face on Jaemin’s chest, memories of the night before flooding like the hot tears that soak Jaemin’s shirt. “_This_ is real. This is real. _You_ are _real_.” He whimpers, clutching onto Jaemin even tighter, _even_ _closer_.

And something about it makes Jaemin’s chest tighten, unknown emotion gripping at his heart, pulling on all the strings.

“Hey,” He urges, brows furrowed. His hands making their way to rest on the smaller’s back, a gesture of comfort. “Hey, I’m here now. I’m real, okay?”

The crying boy nods furiously through sobs, hooking his legs with Jaemin until what’s left is a mess of limbs, and they stay like that.

Until Renjun’s cries fade into soft hiccups.

Until he falls back into slumber, in the warm comforts of Jaemin’s hold.

**Author's Note:**

> it's not my proudest work..? i feel like it was so eh and weirdly paced and lacked interaction but i figured i should have it up before i hate it to the point where it starts rotting in my drafts. this is actually the first work ive ever posted online so please let me know how u think i really wanna improve ;~; 
> 
> this was also originally longer but i didnt know how i was going to continue it so maybe if i got around to finishing it and not hating the entire thing i might post a part 2,,,, just maybe 
> 
> thank u for reading! i'm sorry it wasn't that great :')


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